25. Tia
I threw clothes into my suitcase with trembling hands, not caring how they landed. My vision blurred with tears that wouldn’t stop falling, no matter how many times I wiped them away.
Every item I packed reminded me of Santo. The blue dress that matched his eyes, the soft cashmere sweater he’d draped around my shoulders one chilly evening on Thalassía.
“Baby, slow down,” Mom said, gently catching my wrist as I struggled with the zipper. “ Let me help you.”
I surrendered to her capable hands, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. The same bed where I’d slept, dreaming of a future with a man who’d seen me as nothing but a pawn in his revenge game.
“I’m so stupid,” I whispered. “So incredibly stupid.”
Mom carefully refolded a silk blouse before placing it in the suitcase. “You’re not stupid, Tia. You’re human. You fell in love.”
“With someone who never loved me back.”
“Are you sure about that?” Mom asked, her movements never faltering as she continued packing. “Men are fools, especially young ones. They make terrible choices for terrible reasons. But that doesn’t mean his feelings weren’t real.”
I looked up at her, incredulous. “You’re defending him?”
“No.” She sat beside me, taking my hands in hers. “I’m just saying that people are complicated. The beginning of something doesn’t always define what it becomes.”
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. “He used me, Mom. Everything was a lie.”
“Not everything.” She fixed my braids, just as she’d done when I was small. “I saw the way he looked at you. That wasn’t pretend.”
I wanted to believe her. But how do you cling to memories that feel like lies now?
“It doesn’t matter now,” I said, standing abruptly. “We’re leaving tonight. ”
Mom nodded, not pushing further. She zipped the suitcase closed and handed me a tissue. “I’m with you, baby. Whatever you need.”
As we left the room that had briefly been my home, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t bear to see the thoughts of what might have been.
My mother’s presence beside me and her unwavering support were the only certainty in my shattered world. Thank God for Mom. The only person in this world who has my back.
As we descended the grand staircase, Zeus appeared at the bottom, his ears perked forward, tail wagging.
“I can’t,” I whispered to my mother, freezing on the steps. “I can’t say goodbye to him, too.”
Zeus padded up to me, pressing his head against me. I sank down, burying my face in his fur as silent sobs wracked my body. He’d been my constant companion on the island, my protector during those early days, when everything had been new and uncertain.
“He’ll be okay, Tia,” my mother murmured, though I could hear the sympathy in her voice. “Animals adapt.”
“But they remember,” I said, pulling back to look into Zeus’s eyes. “They remember everything.”
Like I would. Every touch, every promise, every lie .
The sound of voices from the study made me stiffen. I recognized Santo’s agitated tone, followed by his father’s deeper, calmer response. I couldn’t make out the words, but the desperation was clear.
“We should go,” Mom said, helping me to my feet. “The car is waiting.”
I gave Zeus one final pat, then straightened my shoulders and continued down the stairs. Kayla emerged from the adjacent room, her eyes red-rimmed.
“I’ll miss you,” she said softly.
“Thanks for being my friend, Kayla.” I stepped forward, embracing her tightly.
“This isn’t goodbye, Tia. Whatever happens between you and Santo... I still consider you family.”
The words threatened to unravel my fragile composure. I pulled away, afraid that any more kindness might break me completely.
Outside, the brilliant afternoon contrasted my pain, its beauty indifferent to my suffering. Mom squeezed my hand as we walked toward the waiting car.
“Breathe,” she reminded me. “Just keep breathing.”
I did, even though each breath felt like inhaling broken glass. One step, then another. Away from the mansion, away from Santo, away from everything I’d foolishly believed was mine to keep.
A week later, I was curled on the window seat of our Montrose home, staring blankly at the familiar oak tree in our front yard.
Seven days since Greece, yet the wound felt as fresh as if it had happened hours ago.
I’d fallen into a lifeless routine: wake up, pretend to eat, stare at walls, sleep fitfully, repeat.
“I ordered your favorite pizza,” Mom called from downstairs. “Extra cheese, light sauce.”
She’d been incredibly patient, making sure I ate, fielding calls from our extended family.
I dragged myself downstairs, each step an effort. Mom’s smile was too bright, too hopeful, as she slid a slice onto a plate.
I took a small bite, the taste comforting. For her sake, I forced a second bite, then a third. It didn’t make me hurt less, but it was something.
“Thanks Mom,” I murmured, taking a sip of the soda she gave me.
Mom settled beside me and grabbed a few slices. “Your grandma called again. She wants to know if you’re coming to the reunion tomorrow. ”
My father’s mother had been calling daily since we’d returned. I’d responded with vague promises to visit soon, knowing full well I wouldn’t yet.
“Maybe,” I said, the same answer I’d given for days.
Mom sighed, not pushing but not hiding her concern, either. “You haven’t checked your phone since we left Greece.”
“There’s nothing I want to see.”
Either he texted and I’d fall apart… or he didn’t and I’d fall apart anyway. So yeah. No thanks.
“Aristides called earlier,” Mom said carefully. “He said to take all the time you need.”
I nodded, uncertain if I could ever return to those designs without drowning in memories.
The doorbell startled us both. My heart lurched painfully against my ribs, irrational hope flaring despite everything.
“I’ll get it,” Mom said, squeezing my shoulder. “Eat another slice.”
Through the narrow hallway, I could hear the front door open, followed by my mother’s surprised intake of breath. “This isn’t a good time.”
Santo. He’d come all this way. Anger energized my limbs for the first time in days. I pushed back from the table and marched toward the door .
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I called to Mom as I rounded the corner. “I can tell him myself that—”
I froze, the words dying in my throat. Standing on our porch wasn’t Santo, but my father. He looked older than when I’d last seen him.
There were more lines around his eyes, and his once-black hair was now peppered with gray. He wore the same cologne he’d always worn, that spicy sandalwood scent that used to mean safety before it came to mean abandonment.
“Tia,” my father said, looking older than I remembered. “You’ve grown so—”
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, crossing my arms.
His eyes flicked to my mother. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by to see how you both are doing.”
Mom’s face was carefully composed, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. “Kevin, I told you over the phone this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Can I at least come in? Just for a few minutes?” he asked, his attention clearly more focused on my mother than on me.
“No,” Mom answered.
But as I stood there, feeling the weight of all I’d carried these past years—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the loss—something clicked. Maybe it was time to release more than just Santo .
“He can come in,” I said curtly, walking back to the living room without checking if he followed.
My father settled onto the edge of the couch. I sat across from him, arms folded across my chest. Mom positioned herself in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, leaning against the frame.
“I appreciate that you’re reaching out,” I said, surprised at how level I could keep my voice with the man sitting so close to me. “But I have no interest in rebuilding this relationship.”
“Tia,” he started, but I held my hand up.
My father’s jaw tightened, but I went on.
“All the times I needed you, and you weren’t there.
All the important milestones in my life, the events where a girl needs her father by her side.
.. and you weren’t there. You have no idea what color dress I wore to prom, no idea who my best friend was in high school, or the name of the boy who took me on my first date. ”
Mom shifted, her expression changing to sadness.
“You know nothing about me.” I could barely keep the disdain out of my voice.
“And it’s not just the fun stuff. When Mom had her car accident while I was in high school and I was alone and scared, you never showed up.
When I had a cancer scare at nineteen, you couldn’t be bothered to answer my countless calls. ”
Mom’s eyes glistened at the memory, but she remained silent .
“You missed my high school graduation. Your only interest was to demand proof that I was still continuing my education to justify paying child support. You didn’t show up to either of my graduations... or to offer condolences when my best friend died.”
That last hurt deeply then, and hurt now. “You prioritized your second family and ignored my existence. Maybe it would have been more beneficial for you if the cancer had killed me.”
“Tia—” Mom said softly, her face pained at my words.
“None of that is true!” my father protested defensively. “You didn’t like my wife.”
Mom straightened up, eyes hard. “Don’t you dare try to blame my child for your messy-ass wife, Kevin. You knew the woman you married and you’re using Tia’s devastation over our family breaking up as an excuse.”
“Do you remember our last conversation? The one where I begged you not to move away?”
“You didn’t understand.” His drawl thickened with emotion. “Ashley got a higher payin’ job, and it was better for us to move. You were almost grown, and you were doin’ just fine—”
“I was twelve!” I retorted hotly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “And if that wasn’t enough, after you moved away, you wouldn’t even take my calls. I was out of sight, out of mind, wasn’t I?”
“I took your calls,” he defended .
“Riighhttt.” I dragged out the word. “For the twenty-three and a half seconds it took for you to tell me you were glad I called, but you were busy and you’d get back to me as soon as you could. Which, I might add, you never did.”
Mom pushed away from the doorframe and moved closer, sitting on the arm of my chair.
He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. Good.
“Tia,” he began, his voice softer. “Life is complicated. There are extenuating circumstances—”
“How do you extenuate walking out on your own child?”
“I asked your mom to move with us. She refused and wouldn’t give me custody of you.”
“That’s not how it happened, and you know it. You never asked for custody or visitation, for that matter. Don’t rewrite history now,” mom interjected.
There he went again, blaming everyone but himself. Just like Santo had blamed Kat’s actions for his manipulative scheme.
“Listen to me carefully, Dad.” I leaned forward. “I have no interest in having a relationship with you. I’ll be cordial to you at family gatherings to keep Gran Gran happy, but beyond that, there’s nothing left to salvage. I have no place left in my life for you.”
Mom placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever said.
“What about your brother and sister? They’re the only siblings you got. They shouldn’t have to suffer because you want to be stubborn?”
“I’m prepared to interact with my half-siblings, to have a relationship with them, as long as it is independent of you. Because none of this is their fault.”
I saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it didn’t soften my stance.
“I wish you peace, Dad.”
I stood and made my way up the stairs to my bedroom, each step putting distance between me and the father who had broken my heart years ago. It was a painful rehearsal for the wound Santo had just inflicted.